Monday, October 22, 2018

Changes to Monday Journal Entries




Apples

We had simple leftovers for lunch today and then we drove to an orchard, about 25 minutes from our house, and picked up six bushels of apples (some for us, and some to share) returning to a less commercialized orchard where we had shopped last year.  We like those "mom and pop" venues where the folks doing the selling actually have some dirt under their finger nails, and where we can put our money in the hands of the smaller businesses.

At first, we couldn't remember the name of the orchard or exactly where it was located.  Mike did a little research and remembered that it was called “Mousey’s”.  We laughed and wondered about the name. Today when we pulled in to the orchard, there was an older gentleman that Mike immediately recognized as being the man we had seen on the tractor last year in a field close to the orchard.  We surmised that he must be dad to the two women we met last year who sold us apples. We later found out that our hunch was correct when visitors stopped in and asked him about them. This man was quite advanced in years, very small in stature, with what could be described as a somewhat squeaky voice, as well as a little turned up face that  reminds one of a little mouse. It wasn't difficult to figure out that the Orchard was named for this man who embraced his nickname.  His friends and neighbors called out to him “Hi Mousey.  How are you doing today?”  Treating us as good as someone he had known all his life, Mousey quoted us a fair price for the apples and insisted that we fill the boxes up to the top.  He said we wanted us to be satisfied when we left there.

As we talked, Mousey reported that all his Pink Lady apples were destroyed by the rains and wind that Hurricane Michael dumped on us recently. He also said the last of his potatoes rotted in the ground. This information was relayed with little emotion, just simply as fact.  He was a seasoned farmer, his face weathered, and his body bent by the work of many years.  Mike told him that we had bought from him last year and that we would return again next year to buy apples.  He thanked us and I hoped that he would be there next year when we returned.

 It’s a hard life, tending to the land, and more and more folks patronize the establishments with the gift shops, corn maze, games, rides and the winery for the adults making the whole experience more upscale and appealing to a greater audience.  I don’t know the history or the future of Mousey’s orchard, but I know establishments like his are falling by the wayside with each passing year as faithful patrons age and the younger generations seek out the venues with activities to keep them entertained.  One can’t blame an establishment for changing with the times.  It just makes sense to be current and find ways to remake the old farms, ranches and orchards into a viable business in today’s market.  For the few of us still clinging to a way of life that is fading, a no-frills orchard like Mousey’s makes us feel a little more connected both to the earth and to the man who has faithfully tended it for many years. 

Houseplants

The preacher said the essence of Christianity does not lie in our strength, but rather in our vulnerability.  He read from Isaiah 53, explaining how the chapter on suffering described the nation of Israel at the time when the book was written as well as being prophetic about the suffering of Jesus.  The preacher spoke of the grace that is applied to the suffering and I thought about houseplants. 

I guess the plants are on my mind this week with the cold weather that forced itself upon us rather suddenly after Hurricane Michael’s remnants blew through our area.  I spent a morning this past week transplanting some of the larger, overgrown herbs into smaller containers to bring inside for the winter.  I also moved some houseplants back inside, marveling at how much one particular plant had expanded and become full and beautiful.  It had been almost ugly when I took it outside this spring.  Long, spindly, with small, nondescript leaves that looked like they were struggling to survive, I didn’t have much hope for the plant.  I cut it back to almost nothing, put it in a different pot with some fresh soil, and stuck it down underneath my herbs on the bottom part of an old crate I used as a shelf.  I watered it when it needed moisture and occasionally gave it a bit of fertilizer, but mostly I paid little attention to it.  When I pulled the plant out to bring it inside before the impending frost, I was amazed at how lovely it looked with large, full leaves and bright colors.  Obviously, cutting it back to almost nothing and then giving it the right environment to thrive was best. The transformation was amazing. 

I feel a little bit like that scraggly houseplant right now, cutting back what is familiar and making necessary changes in my life.  I feel a whole lot of that vulnerability about which the preacher mentioned.  That plant sitting in my window enjoying the morning sun and protected from the elements would not be as lovely had it not experienced some pruning.  It hurts to be pruned and it’s not fun feeling vulnerable, but grace can take the ugliness that life deals out and transform it into something beautiful. 

Changes

I have been committed to journaling for over a year now and posting my writing to my blog making it public.  I don’t see my life as something that appeals to mass readership (and the stats of my blog are proof).  Public approval or accolades was never my goal when I began this project.  I simply wanted to be able to put down my thoughts and share my stories in a place where they would hopefully not get lost so that my children and grandchildren would some day have access to them when I am gone.  I think the sharing of stories, even the most mundane things, is engrained in me.  I was encouraged to read memoirs, biographies and autobiographies as a child and teenager.  My maternal grandmother, who had such a strong influence on my life wrote down the simplest stories and facts so that they would not be forgotten or lost over time.  When I began writing my journals and posting them online, I would print them out and mail them to her. I think this type of journaling is being lost now that we have social media and the ability to share stories immediately with a large audience.   Logging the basic information of daily life is not something new.  People have been doing it since the beginning of time.  Having the ability to post that information immediately so that anyone in the world can see it and read it is a relatively new phenomenon however.  Besides wanting my family, should they ever desire, to be able to have an unadulterated account of some of the events of my life, I also wanted to discipline myself to writing every day in an attempt to improve my writing abilities as well as find my own unique writing style and improve upon that style.  Journaling online has given me that opportunity and has also allowed me to receive feed back from others which has in turn helped me to work on being a better writer.  Most likely, I will never be a professional writer but I have the heart of a writer and it is important to me to be able to create using the written word.  It matters not to me what the subject, as long as I have opportunity to write.  So, to those who have taken the time to read the things I have written over the last year and a half in this experiment of online journaling, I thank you for being so supportive and giving me this opportunity.

I will still be here on Mondays, posting a few short stories and I welcome your feedback and constructive criticism as I continue to write.  We will see where this takes me and what kinds of stories I find to share.  For me, as long as I’m writing, I’m content. 


Tuesday, October 16, 2018

Old-fashioned Apple Butter (Reviewed and Updated September 18, 2022)

  •  I really like this recipe in part because your additional ingredients are based on the amount of sauce made after your apples have been cooked and strained. While these directions offer the convenience of a crock pot, you can easily modify it for the stovetop as well, and the flavor yields an old-fashioned taste.  


  • Old Fashioned Apple Butter
  • Directions:
  • In this recipe, the peelings are left on the apples because they naturally contain pectin which helps to thicken the sauce. Because we are leaving the peelings on the apples for this first step, washing with a mixture of vinegar and water will help to remove dirt and any sprays that may have been used on the apples.  Mix 1/2 cup of vinegar into the water and allow apples to soak for about 20 minutes before rinsing them off.  
    • Cut apples by coring and quartering.  (You can see in the picture I cut mine into smaller pieces to speed up the cooking process)
    • Stir in Cider. (I actually used hard cider but you can use any type of cider or apple juice.) Cover and cook on high for 2-4 hours or on low for 10-18 hours if you are using a crock pot.  Adjust times for the stovetop if you are not using a crockpot.  I have done it both ways.  
    • Process cooked apples in a sieve/food mill to remove skins and puree. 
    •  Measure and pour applesauce back into the crock pot.  For every pint of fruit, add one cup of sugar (I use brown sugar), one teaspoon of cinnamon, 1/2 teaspoon of allspice, 1/2 teaspoon of ground cloves, and 1/2 teaspoon of nutmeg.
  •  
    • Cover and cook for six to eight hours, stirring frequently to keep the sauce from sticking to the crock pot or pan.  
    • Remove the lid halfway through the process to allow steam to escape and the sauce to thicken.  
    • Apple butter can then be canned or frozen. For the hot water bath method of canning for altitudes up to 1000 feet,  process 5 minutes for half-pints or pint jars and 10 minutes for quart jars.  For altitudes from 1000-6000 feet, process for 10 minutes for half-pints and pints and 15 minutes for quarts.  



Monday, October 15, 2018

Monday Journals



October 10, 2018

I am never quite sure what the day will bring.  Mostly, unless Mike is in Staunton, I plan my days around whatever project he is tackling.  Most of the time that means I have my own projects, but sometimes I assist him with what he is doing or I “ride along” with him when he has things to do away from home.  Monday morning, he decided to tackle a most unpleasant task.  I worry because he tries to do too much by himself and he is quick to remind me that there is no one else who is going to help do the things he needs to do.  He has a point.  It has mostly been that way for us.  That’s not to say that we don’t have people who help us, because we do, but mostly one can’t ask for help with the unpleasant and difficult tasks.  It just doesn’t work that way.  Mostly, over the years, I have tried to “be the other man” to help carry the loads and lend what strength I had to the situation, but I am not in a position to do that at this point.  In the unfinished basement of our home, old, inoperable appliance had been left by previous owners.  In addition, with our continued bad luck with used appliances, we had accumulated non-working appliances of our own.  And, there was an old, extremely heavy 1940-50’s era wood stove that could not be used and needed to be removed because we would like to install an operable wood stove.  All of this is heavy and difficult for one person to manage.  In fact, pretty impossible for one person to manage unless your name is Mike Cupp.  Adding to the difficulty is the steepness and the narrowness of the old steps and the ill though out plan of the people who bought and flipped this house before we purchased it when they built the deck out from the back door and made it impossible to get anything in and out of the basement without squeezing it between the deck and the stairs and then having to make a sharp, half a  turn back to get it down the steps.  The set up makes bringing appliances in or out of the basement next to impossible.  Somehow, someway that man of mine got a stand-up freezer, two dryers, two washing machines and a wood burning stove out of that basement and onto the back of the truck.  There were times when I would steady something here or put a hand there, but I did not in any way help with the lifting.  I did fret the whole time that he was going to end up with a serious injury, if not from stressing and straining muscles, then from a large appliance falling backwards on him as he came up the steep steps.  Mostly, I couldn’t watch because then I would blurt out my fear and Mike would get irritated with me as I distracted him from the task at hand.  I was relieved when everything was on the truck and we could make our way to the scrap yard. 

It's a “good little ways” to the scrap yard but not an unpleasant drive.  After Mike got everything off the back of the truck (a much easier task than getting everything on the truck) we laughed that the money we got from the scrap yard would pay for a few bags of feed.  On the way home, we went into Hillsville and picked up some feed after stopping at a couple of grocery stores to pick up items we needed or wanted.  Because the round-trip drive to the grocery store is close to an hour for us, we always stop in when we are in the area rather than make a special trip. 

Back at home I had supper to fix and the cow to milk before we settled in for a quiet evening.  It was nice to have Mike back from Staunton and be able to keep him home this week.  He had originally thought to go back to Staunton this week and make more hay, but the weather coinciding with Hurricane Michael is keeping him from proceeding with those plans this week. 

Tuesday, I woke up very early being in a lot of sciatic and lower back pain.  When that happens, I just get up, no matter what time it is, and do something.  I have had to eliminate coffee from my diet, but I can drink hot tea.  I drink a lot of herbal teas and first thing in the morning when I am hurting, I usually get up and make a double cup of Turmeric tea with a touch of honey.  While the water is heating on the stove, I typically put away any dishes I have left to drain from the previous night and then I straighten up the pillows on the couch.  I have always been one that has to have certain things in order and the pillows on the couch drive me crazy if they are in disarray.  I am convinced that my need to make order of things like this is because there is so much in life over which we have no control.  The pillows on the couch, I can put back in order.  I also usually start a load of clothes at this time because the sooner I can get them on the clothesline in the morning, the more likely they are to get dry before an afternoon thunderstorm threatens or before the evening dampness seeps into them.  We still do not have a working dryer and keeping the clothes washed and dried requires some planning and diligence on my part.  However, I always enjoy hanging clothes on the line and the idea of not using the extra electricity to dry them.  Having accomplished my morning routine and seeing it was still only 4 am, I decided to lie down and see if I could get a little more sleep.  The turmeric tea and the hour of movement were enough to relieve my back a tiny bit so that I could drift off again.  I slept until a little after seven and Mike woke me up and asked if I would get ready and go with him to the produce auction in Boone’s Mill.  He loves to do this and he enjoys my company.  I always know that I can sit in the car and read or take a nap if things get too long.  It’s also a good time for me to make phone calls in a location where I have decent internet service.  The trip to Boone’s Mill is always pretty.  We take the Blue Ridge Parkway for about half the way and then we take rural road down the mountain until we finally arrive at our destination.  It’s really a lovely drive on most days.  Yesterday, the fog was so thick that we could not see anything for most of the miles along the parkway.  Mike even thought about turning around and going back home, but kept thinking that we would soon drive out of the fog.  The items at the auction were scarce and high.  That’s how it is this time of year.  I bought a few New England Cheese pumpkins.  I am always drawn to this heirloom variety of pumpkin.  It is a pie pumpkin and I figured I could decorate with them and then use them for baking.  I am going to take a few to our antique booth in Galax.  They will look good with the farmhouse décor items we have in the upstairs booth.  For less than the price of a crafty, fall decoration from Walmart, I have something I can use to decorate several locations and process and eat when I am finished.  Seems like a win/win situation to me, or at least, that is how I justified my purchase in my own mind. 

The trip back was better.  There were still areas of thick fog but mostly it was clear.  In one of the areas of heavy fog, we came up quickly on two motorcycles.  It startled me when we suddenly came upon them.  Both drivers were wearing all black and their bikes were black.  If it were not for one tiny, little, red taillight, we would not have seen them.  We followed them on the Parkway for a number of miles until they finally exited the road.  I wondered aloud if they realized how difficult they were to see in the fog and how I wished that they would wear something reflective when riding in such conditions.  We drove through some rain but when we arrived home, the sun was shining.  These mountains are known for their numerous microclimates in the hills and hollers. 

Back at home, I worked toward an early meal, and then milked the cow, took care of the chickens and gathered the eggs before pricing a few small items we have to go in our booth at Briar Patch Marketplace.  It is getting dark earlier which means more time in the evenings for indoor things before it is time to go to bed.  As a farmer’s wife, I have always enjoyed when the days start getting shorter in the fall because it always meant that Mike would be home earlier and we could begin to have a little time together after a long, hard, spring and summer.  Our lives are different now due to the choices we have made and we now have more time together because of them.  However, the shorter days still give me a sense of coziness as we settle in together for a longer evening. 

October 14, 2018

We had planned to stay at home Wednesday.  Mike hoped to get some work done on the large outbuilding that he is restoring.  He has been working to put a new, metal roof on it.  The building is huge and he has taken this project on without any help at all.  I am not able to climb on the roof or to lift the long pieces of metal up to him.  I don’t even know how he manages, but he does and he is slowly making progress.  However, the rain started earlier than we expected and we decided to run errands instead.  We had a number of things we needed to accomplish in Galax and Hillsville, so we just made a day of it.  I was irritable and I don’t really even know why.  I simply hated every minute of being out that day.  I could not wait to be home again.  I blamed it on impending weather, but that was just an excuse, I suppose. 

We knew that we would get some weather off Hurricane Michael, but the reports that we read initially indicated we were only supposed to get a couple of inches of rain from the storm.    We had been so prepared for Florence and that storm really ended up not being that big of a deal for us.  We did get a good bit of rain from it, but being it came over such a long period of time, it didn’t cause us any real trouble.  Hurricane Michael ended up being a totally different situation for us.  Thursday morning the sky was dark and the rains from the previous day continued and intensified.  Mike had always talked about the potential dangers of heavy rainfall here, and I acknowledged his concerns, but when it became a reality, I was taken off guard.  I watched the streams on two sides of our home, and the one across the road in the neighbor’s meadow that comes through a culvert under the road to join our two streams where it becomes Roads Creek and then Laurel Fork Creek.  The streams have risen and raged before but never got even dangerously close to swelling their banks.  I was trying to work up some apples but I couldn’t keep myself from running to the dining room where I had a view of the water.  I noticed at one point that it had risen quickly and significantly in the thirty minutes since I had looked at it previously.  I made my way to another window where I could see our low water bridge at the end of our driveway.  I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw water rolling over the top of the bridge.  We have never witnessed that even with all the rain we have had.  At first it was interesting, a novelty of sorts, until I saw the waters rising even higher and starting to flood the main road.  By this time, I was becoming just a little fearful.  I knew that we were safe in our home on the bank and that it would take something the size of Noah’s flood to reach our house, but the site of the bridge under rushing water and the entire meadow as well as the road looking like a raging river was unnerving.  I was worried about the water that was pouring down from the mountain ridges behind our house that I knew was going through the barn.  We had left the doors to the barn open so the animals could get in, but also so that they could get out.  Knowing that animals have good instincts, we felt that if they were not trapped inside the barn and things go too bad, they could move on up to higher ground which is what they did.  I couldn’t get up to check on them for a while because of the torrential rains but we found them safe when we were able to go.  The water had gone through the shelter area off the back of the barn and taken a good bit of dirt with it.  It was wet where a stream had run through that section but it could have been worse.  There is nothing that makes a person feel quite as vulnerable as raging, flooding water and the knowledge that there is nothing that can be done to stop it.  I watched in horror as the streams continued to rise until almost as suddenly as it all began, once the rain slacked off, they began to recede.  It actually didn’t take long for the waters to go down below the bridge once again, giving us access by vehicle to leave our property if we wished.  The flooding really left us with no real issues.  We never lost power and other than some unwanted debris and some more erosion caused by the running water, we ended up just fine.  It will, however, be something that I never forget. 

I was so happy that the waters receded in time for Alissa and the girls to make a trip down to see us for the weekend.  I have not been able to stay more than 12-18 hours when I go back to Staunton since Princess calved and I have been milking her.  My time there is always filled with work and business and with Analia going to kindergarten and Alissa working, it’s hard to get to spend any quality time with them.  I was so thankful that they were able to come down and spend some time with us in our home where we could relax and make memories.  Both girls didn’t’ want me to be out of their site.  Rory, who called me mom for most of her 18 months and then started saying “T T” for Tita now has decided that it’s “Teesha”.  She didn’t call me mom even once but repeatedly said “Teesha, Teesha” because she wanted me to hold her or at least to not leave the room she was in at the time.  We had a lot of fun together playing, reading, seeing the cows and chickens, riding the ATV on the back 40, carving a pumpkin and just spending quality time together.  This morning, we got up and readied ourselves for church.  The girls walked into church like they had been to that church a hundred times but they had only been there once before.  I think the love and kindness of the people at church had made such an impression on them the last time they visited, that they felt loved, accepted and uninhibited.  Besides having some minor disagreements over the stickers I had brought to keep them busy during the sermon, they were really well behaved and quiet, but it wouldn’t have mattered to anyone if they had not been.  After church we went to The Parkway Grill for brunch.  It was the first time that I have dared to eat away from home since I got so violently ill almost five weeks ago.  I was a bit nervous about eating out because it is hard to tell sometimes how a food has been prepared and I have some pretty strong theories on what some of my triggers are that cause me to have extreme reactions to the food I am eating.  Having the food served buffet style allowed me to pick and choose what I thought would work well for me.  This is the hardest part, not the being limited in what I can eat so much, but in how it restricts my being able to interact with those I love when we share meal times together.  I know several times Mike has wanted to eat out and while I encouraged him to do it, he would not, knowing I would be so very limited.  I’ve been pretty isolated from these incidents in the last five weeks, but one event we attended included a BBQ meal.  (I may have written some about that last week.)  I had to walk away because there was nothing there I could safely it.  It made me feel very sad.  I didn’t want to stand there and have to explain dozens of times why I couldn’t eat the food and yet to walk away and wait for Mike meant that he was constantly thinking about me sitting in the car and I know that detracted from his being able to thoroughly enjoy his time.  But, we made it through lunch today and while it sent me immediately to the bathroom, I did not get violently sick.  And while everyone was concerned about me either not eating enough or possibly eating something that would have adverse effects, we did enjoy eating out together and our time together.  I was glad to leave the restaurant however.  It just feels a little strained rather than fun now. 

After eating, we drove a few blocks over to Floyd Country Store for their Sunday afternoon jam session.  After experiencing the music and atmosphere at the store on several occasions, I would go every Sunday afternoon if I could make it.  We were there about five weeks ago, the Sunday before I got so sick and had to go to the ER.  It was the week that an older gentleman pulled me out onto the dance floor and I made a complete fool of myself but had a wonderful time.  I told Mike then that I wanted to take all the grands when they visited, as I want them to experience traditional music and dance of the Appalachian Mountains.  We had to wait a while.  I think we got the wrong time and assumed it started half an hour before it was scheduled.  The kids were getting restless and I began to think that maybe it had not been such a good idea but with the first note of music, I knew they were hooked.  Analia ran out onto the dance floor trying to figure out how to make her ballet lessons work with the Mountain music.  I could see she was struggling but knew she would work it out.  After a couple of songs, I whispered in her ear to watch the feet of the other dancers and just try to do what they were doing.  She did much better then, but was still threw in a ballet move here and there.  After a while, some girls a little older than her who are regulars came to dance and they gathered round her and danced so that she would have someone to follow.  Then, during a slow tune, one of the girls took her hands, never saying a word, and gently showed her how to dance to the slower music.  Alissa had intended to leave around 2 but Analia was having so much fun and kept begging to stay longer.  One more song was never enough and they stayed until almost 3 pm, Analia stalling even as she was being buckled in her car seat. 

When the music first began I saw Rory’s head nod forward and she began to keep time with her body as the musicians played.  She came over and stood beside my chair staring ahead at the musicians mesmerized by the music and the dancing.  I leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Do you want to dance?”  Before I could even get out of the chair, this child who is normally, initially reserved around strangers, ran through the spectators, through the musicians, and into the circle of dancers.  There she stopped and stood dead still.  We watched her as she stood there unmoving, staring at the dancer’s feet.  I thought at first that maybe she realized she had run up there alone and had gotten scared until I realized that she was thinking about what the others were doing and taking it all in.  It seemed as if she was studying their moves and trying to process in her head what she needed to do to make her feet move like theirs.  She was transfixed.  The song ended and all the dancers cleared the floor.  Rory just stood there.  I motioned for her to come back.  I thought she might be afraid but she walked through the crowd of people and made her way back to me until the next song began and she ran out onto the floor with the dancers again.  This time, we saw her little feet begin to move and they were keeping time with the music, a little slow and unsure, but definitely getting it.  She was concentrating hard.  As the music continued, she stood right in front of the man who is kind of the unspoken leader of the large, group of folks who gather on Sundays to play at Floyd Country Store.  You could see that she was feeling the music and looking straight into his face.  He was smiling from ear to ear, a man who usually plays with a straight face.  As she found the beat, her whole body went up and down and both feet kept time together as she rocked up on her tip toes and back on her heals, over and over again.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of her as she danced and the whole group danced around her.  Finally, as the song ended, I looked around and I saw that I wasn’t the only one who had been watching her.  There were smiles on so many faces as the dancers and musicians witnessed the moment that a little, 18-month-old girl fell in love with flat foot dancing and mountain music.  My heart squeezed tight as folk clapped and congratulated her on a job well done.  Never did she crack a smile as she was completely serious about the whole event.  On the next song, one of the regulars who dances most every week, a very kind man who is encouraging but never overbearing, reached his hand out to her and she reached up and took it.  From that moment on, they were partners.  The man’s name is Mike and he with great patience danced with Rory every single dance because she wanted him to do so.  When she got too tired but still wanted to be on the dance floor, he picked her up (with our permission) and danced with her.   A couple of times, Rory’s new friend Mike tried to slow dance with a couple of the ladies he knows and dances with regularly.  I told Rory she had to dance by herself and she went out on to the floor and danced until she saw her friend and then she reached up, without a smile with one arm and motioned to him that she wanted him to dance with HER.  Mike’s partner smiled, bowed out, and he took Rory in his arms and danced wit her instead.  This happened more than once and with more than one partner as Mike tried to dance with his friends.  Each time, the women would bow out graciously and turn their partner over to Rory. 

One of the ladies, who is a regular and who had also patiently shared her time and talents with both Analia and Rory, stopped me when I tried to apologize for Rory stealing her dance partner, Mike.  She said that they are there to share.  She relayed that years ago she had entered Floyd Country Store and an elderly lady had pulled her out onto the dance floor and taught her how to flat foot, igniting a passion in her that is obviously alive and strong today.  She remarked that from then on, she has tried to “pay it forward” by sharing what she has learned with others. 

At one point, my eyes filled with tears and I thought that the swelling of my heart was going to be more than I could control.  I blinked hard as I turned to my Mike and said, “These people are so good.  Look at them with our grandkids. They are just good people.”

Most every day there is something that I read, hear, or witness that causes me to despair.  As I get older, I no longer have that youthful naivety that makes me feel as if I can somehow be an instrument to change the world is some grand way.  In fact, a lot of days, I just want to hide away and make this old world go away with all of its pain and negativity.   But then, there are these God moments. 

There in a little Country Store in the Blue Ridge Mountains with the sounds of stringed instruments and feet keeping time with the old-time music on the wooden floor, I felt God just as strongly as I have ever felt him in a church sanctuary.   The goodness of His children brought me to tears as I witnessed community, acceptance, love and good will.  And, this wasn’t the first time that I had felt God’s presence there. 

People refer to these mountains and these experiences like I have tried to describe here in my journal sometimes as “magical” and indeed it does feel that way.  Maybe it’s the atmosphere that sets the stage but the real magic comes from open hearts of regular people who are brave enough and strong enough to just let love shine through and who reach out to others and share joy.  The magic is in community, in the sharing of our common humanity.  It’s possible.  I feel it in the little mountain church that I attend on Sunday mornings, in the stranger who waves a thank you from the road after they pick up a dozen eggs from our honor system cart, from folks I barely know who once stopped to put our cows back inside the fence when they got out, and from strangers who set their own afternoon aside to teach my grandkids the joy of flat foot dancing.  When the world starts to gets me down and I begin to despair, I need to remember to turn off the radio, television and computer, go out and pay it forward with love.  There’s the magic.    


Tuesday, October 09, 2018

Freezer Slaw (Reviewed and Updated September 25, 2022)

Recently I found some hand, written recipes from my grandmother and I thought I would share this particular recipe here.  I remember that it was frequently requested from her by family and friends.


Freezer Slaw
 1 Medium Cabbage Chopped
1 Carrot Grated
1 Teaspoon of Salt
Mix salt with chopped cabbage and let stand for one hour.  Then, squeeze out all moisture and add carrot. 

Vinegar Dressing
1 Cup Vinegar (I used Bragg's Apple Cider)
1/4 Cup of water
1 teaspoon mustard seed
1 teaspoon celery seed
2 Cups sugar (Adjust to taste)
Combine and boil for one minute.  Cool to lukewarm and pour over the cabbage mixture.  


  
Toss slaw and vinegar, mixing well.  

 Place in freezer containers or freezer bags and store in the freezer until ready to use.  Thaw thoroughly before serving and serve as is or mix with a bit of mayo.  Last up to six months in the freezer.  

Of course, this does not taste like slaw made with fresh cabbage and has a stronger vinegar base than what we are used to eating, but I am impressed with how the cabbage retains most of its crispness with this recipe.  It is a good way to use up cabbage if one has an excess in the fall.  


Monday, October 08, 2018

Monday Journals

Photo taken earlier in the year of our resident Heron


October 8, 2018

Following an afternoon of rain, a heavy fog settled over the mountain ridges that surround our home.  The sun was beginning it’s decent behind the tallest of the ridges and the mist hung below its rays creating a mystical aura.  The atmosphere gave me cause to pause and reflect for a moment, my spirit offering up a prayer of thanks for all that is good in a world that frequently feels as if evil might win.  These moments of quiet reflection, no matter how brief, strengthen my faith as I hold fast that which is good.  As I made my way from the barnyard, a bit weakened by my recent health issues and struggling to carry the awkward, heavy, bucket of milk, movement caught my eye.  From out of the mist a great, blue heron rose into the air.  I stood mesmerized, as I always do when I see this solitary bird, and I watched as the beautiful creature flew without effort from our meadow where he feeds from the running stream to the meadow across the road owned by the neighbor.  I see the Heron from time to time and suspect that it has a nest high in the trees on that side of the road and only visits our property to look for food on occasion.  I cannot explain why the presence of this bird brings me both peace and happiness, but every time I witness his presence, a calmness fills my soul and I realize that I am smiling.  So often my head is down, my eyes on the ground, my brain busy trying to sort out the day’s tasks.  Often, I am focused on trying to find solutions to my own difficulties or I have notions that maybe I can make sense of the universal chaos that plagues this world in which we live as mankind struggles with each other over power, each one believing their cause is justified and divinely sanctioned.  Perhaps I identify with this lone bird who thrives in solitude and who looks a little awkward but has the characteristics it needs to not only survive but to thrive.  The bird never seems to quite “fit in” and yet resilience, strength, and ingenuity guide this creature to adapt and make a way for itself, living a life of balance, mostly with feet on the ground, but having the ability to rise above when necessary. 

This was a week filled with much solitude for me.  I learned long ago not to run from these alone times but rather to embrace them.  I do not fear times alone, but rather see it as an opportunity for growth.  I am convinced that the uncluttering of our minds with all the outside distractions is critical for personal reflection.  I am like most everyone else in that I often seek ways to distract myself so that I spend less time thinking about things that trouble me, but the truth is, until we face those things head on, they continue resurface and we never find peace.  So many times it is not about sorting out the answers or finding a solution to what troubles us, but rather giving space to those feelings and just allowing them to “be” rather than trying to push them aside.  Truth is, I am at a place in my life where I enjoy having Mike almost constantly either by my side or at least within the sound of my voice should I wish to communicate with him.  But, these times when we are apart allow me the opportunity to address those things that I am pushing aside because I don’t want to take the time to deal with them.  

Mike spent four days in Staunton/Verona trying to get a large field of hay made.  We talked a couple times a day on the phone, catching each other up on happenings, and just finding comfort in the sound of each other’s voices.  It’s usually difficult to have phone conversations from our house with cell phone service being so poor that most calls are dropped multiple times before a full conversation can be achieved.  Most of the time if I need to make a call, I drive a mile and a half down the road to the rural, dollar store that sits in the middle of nowhere but where I can get “one bar” of service.  Most of the time I don’t drop calls from there. 

I made a long list of things to do while Mike was away, but promised myself that I would not stress over checking off everything on the list.  I have had to be really careful not to overextend myself recently, or I end up sick and in the bed.  Slow and steady was my motto, giving myself permission to stop and rest when I felt I needed it.  I didn’t always follow this plan over the four-day period and one day pushed myself a little too hard.  The next day I paid for it, but all in all, the four days of solitude not only provided opportunity for reflection, but also gave me uninterrupted time to check some things of my list.  I wrote several letters, cut twenty pounds of cabbage and began the fermentation process for kraut, made freezer slaw, did some baking, made a large batch of bone broth, made cheese and butter, washed and hung clothes on the line, kept the plants watered, paid some bills for my grandma, kept my cow milked, made apple butter, forked manure out of the loafing shed, kept the chickens fed and watered and spent a lot of time trying to figure out where to go next with my health.

At some point, I will write in detail what is going on inside on my body, inside my mind, and what that means as far as living as practically and fully as I possibly can.  At this point, I am still trying to wrap my mind around not only what I know, but also what I don’t know.  I am usually not one who comes to conclusions without a struggle and processing the information and sorting the facts into something I can analyze has been a process in regards to my health.  Having prided myself on making mostly good choices in regard to my health and being blessed with a strong body and the energy to accomplish my goals, this set back has brought on feelings of disbelief, fear, sadness, confusion, denial in some instances and even some guilt.  I am working my way through those things while trying to take the best, practical approach to the next step in my health care.  What would have been an easy decision for most has stalled me for over three weeks.  My natural suspicion about doctors and my feeling that the majority of the medical profession wants to promote prescription drugs as the answer to everything instead of looking at lifestyle and nutritional modifications and treatments has left me scrambling to try to find a way that I can handle this on my own.  Instead, all of my research has and the advice from others is that I need more answers before I can decide what course of action is going to be best for me.

I have a history of reoccurring health concerns as well as recent complications that lead the doctor to believe that I have IBD (inflammatory bowel disease) which is an autoimmune illness.  Specific blood work that tests markers for this disease also indicated that I am at risk.  The specialist I saw feels that it’s not a matter of “if” I have this illness but rather to what extreme.  The biggest question at this point is whether it is Ulcerative Colitis or Crohn’s disease.  However, there can be no definitive diagnosis until further testing is completed and that is where I have been dragging my feet.  We are blessed to have all our needs met and I am in way complaining, but it has been difficult to watch as the bills from my emergency room visit and then a three-hour visit to the specialist have arrived in the mail box.  We have a $7500 deductible health insurance policy because we are self-employed.  A higher deductible makes our annual rates less expensive and except for one year when Mike had shoulder surgery and I had my gallbladder removed, we have never met our deductible.  We also do not have prescription insurance, and the total cost of the medications that the doctor prescribed for me was over $4600.  Needless to say, I didn’t get my meds.  All of the financial coupled with a general mistrust of the medical profession has left me really struggling in my mind with what direction to take.  I have managed my symptoms through selective eating but I know my body is not healing.  I am just getting by.  After really coming to grips with some of the hard, cold facts of my research and accepting the fact that the symptoms of IBD and colon cancer are often the same, I know without further testing I can’t come up with a management plan and deal with what is happening inside my body.  So, after three weeks, I am finally as comfortable as I am going to be with the idea of having the endoscopy and eventually when my inflammation is less severe, a colonoscopy to determine exactly what is wrong with me.   Mike (who has a greater distrust of doctors than I do) is supportive of my decision. 

The inflammation manifests itself in ways other than IBD, and I finally have an answer (although not an official diagnosis) as to the sciatic pain and stiffness that I have been experiencing and have been treated by Chiropractors off and on for the last ten years.  Sometimes, people with an autoimmune, inflammatory condition associated with IBD will also have arthritic conditions in different parts of their body (as well as inflammation of the eyes).  Now that my intestines are somewhat under control with a selective diet (eating the same foods over and over again that I know my body won’t reject), I am dealing with the most intense pain that I have ever dealt with in my hips.  I am only able to sleep a few hours at a time and I am constantly moving to try to find a comfortable position whether it is day or night. 

I am still able to look at the positive and to be thankful for all the things I am able to do.  I am still milking my cow every day and that is important to me.  I am still spending many hours in the kitchen and that makes me happy.  I am slowing down with fatigue and pain and requiring naps during the day but I have hope that I will get answers and get the inflammation into remission so that I can resume most, if not all, of the activities and lifestyle that I love.  I am trying to lay to rest the fears that this might be more than IBD and looking at the tests as a positive next step that will potentially rule out colon cancer and give me a clear-cut diagnosis which will present me with the opportunity to plan my health care towards my specific needs. 

Aside from the physical aspects of this illness, there is the issue of mental sluggishness or “brain fog”.  There have been times in the last few months when I thought I might be losing my mind and my cognitive abilities. I have had crazy “accidents” because I just can’t pull my thoughts together.  This has made it difficult at times to do the things I need to do.  I can also see where it has affected my journaling and my writing.  I am struggling now to get things down in my journal and were it not so important to me, I would just abandon it for a while.  However, I feel the need to push through and write what I can.  It’s not exactly how I want it to be, these words that I am writing.  They are not coming together to express exactly how I feel or to provide the detail of my day to day existence that I enjoy putting into words.  I struggle twice as long to write a descriptive paragraph, sitting for long periods of time just trying to remember a specific word that I want to use.  I am not used to that.  I am used to writing quickly and with passion.  But, I am thankful that I am still writing, still living, still loving, and still enjoying life. 

This is a new journey for me but it will hold lots of learning experiences and I will find my way with the help of my husband, my family, my friends, my church, my Creator and my own passion for life.  That lone Heron rising out of the mist brings a tear to my eye and fills my heart with just enough hope to believe that whatever happens, it will be all right. 




Monday, October 01, 2018

Monday Journals



September 24, 2018

Observing the natural world around me has always been my escape.  I can’t deny the reverie in which I lose myself when I become distracted by nature. I am just so happy to live in a place where I am inundated with opportunities, even if only for a few moments, to let myself slip away into the beauty that surrounds me.  It is literally my sanity and those times when I found myself living in places that I lived without immediate access to the woods or farmland, were a literal hell for me.  Here I recall a few moments of wonder and reflection from this past week:

I stare for a while, contemplating how it could be that the turning of the leaves would begin on the first official day of fall, so subtly in the beginning, only to suddenly burst into color in the days ahead.  I wonder how it could be that another autumn is now upon us?  Fifty-one Autumns I have experienced in this life and while the days can be most difficult at times, something about the changing of seasons brings hope and expectation.  I reckon that if I ever lose that kind of hope, then life will become pointless.  It is, in fact, hope that inspires us to accept today and look forward to the future.  Hope is a byproduct of faith.  Even the Bible says “Hope deferred makes the hear sick”, a lesson that everyone knows to be true.

I hear the music of the stream outside my bedroom window; day after day it flows past our house at the front of our property. It joins with another stream that flows across the neighbor’s meadow where his huge draft animals quench their thirst just before that stream comes through a culvert under the road, joining with ours to form Roads Creek.  From that point, the creek continues to swell until it pours itself into Laurel Creek.  I think about the words of poet, Mary Oliver, “"It is the nature of stone to be satisfied. It is the nature of water to want to be somewhere else."  I don’t want to be anywhere else; I only want to be here, but I do enjoy listening to the sounds of the water as it travels to new destinations. 

I throw my head back and look to the tops of the majestic pines that cover the steep bank to the southwest of our home.  I wonder just how old they are and how long they will remain.  I have heard some of the big trees as they crash to the ground for no apparent reason, other than the fact they just could not hold on any longer and lost their grip on the steeply sloped sides of this mountainous terrain.  I contemplate holding on when the storms rage and then falling apart when the storms have subsided. I can relate to those old pines.  At some point, with time, those pines will be gone.  Someone will cut them down, they will die of natural causes, a storm will finally topple them over one by one, or they will simply just lose their grip, let go, and crash to the ground.   Yet, under the branches of those old pines, smaller, younger pines are ready to take their place.  Who am I to question the natural order of things and the passing of time?

I watch the flock of Eastern Wild Turkeys who are all back together now after a period of nesting for the hens. The juveniles that survived long enough to leave the nests and become part of the larger flock are learning the ways of their older and wiser family members.  For long periods of time they hang out in the meadow beside our house or the neighbor’s meadow across the road.  They are so comfortable with our presence that they almost appear to be domesticated at times.  Sometimes I walk so close to them that I can look into their eyes while they tilt their heads to the side, staring at me intently with curiosity but ready to bolt if I move suddenly.  The birds are so fragile and yet so resilient.  Somehow, they manage to survive and thrive in spite of the natural predators who continue to try to destroy them.  People are no different, rising above and continuing to live in spite of the pain that others have inflected upon them. 

I listen to the methodical sound of the cattle pulling grass from the earth and grinding it between their teeth.  I sooths me standing among these gentle, maternal creatures.  The calves run and play with full bellies, like children who have never known fear, pain, loss, illness or hunger.  I wonder why it is that our cows ended up with us in a place where they do not have to scrounge for their next meal and where they receive loving care.   I wonder why so many, animals and humans alike, have to suffer in places where they don’t have enough to eat and where no one cares for them.  It’s like some crazy lottery where the lucky ones win and everyone else simply can’t catch a break.  It’s easy to pass it off with the word “blessed” but then that indicates that all those who do not have enough are somehow not in God’s favor.  I don’t believe that.  I have stopped trying to explain it away.  It just is.  What I do know is that those of us who call ourselves “blessed” have a great responsibility that comes with our abundance.  Like the parable that Jesus told in the New Testament, one day we will be asked to show what we did with our “wealth” and with our “talents”.  I am sure I have failed more tests than I have passed. 

 I look intently at the leaves and the unique shape of the Chestnut tree that Mike spotted not too far from our house at the end of a neighbor’s driveway.   As I look at the tree, I think about the history of the American Chestnut trees in this area, and how they were once common and so much a part of the every day life of the people living in this part of the Appalachian Mountains.  The fruit of these trees helped to feed the free ranging hogs of the mountain communities and those hogs put food in the bellies of many who struggled to simply get by.  The timber from these trees provided a source of income to many until the chestnut blight destroyed nearly all of the trees.  The American Chestnut Association is working hard to backcross American Chestnut trees with other varieties in order to produce a disease resistant tree that will not succumb to blight.  The trees fascinate me and I wonder as I look at the tree filled with fruit if this tree has what it takes to hang on, and continue thrive, or will it like so many others, succumb to blight and die.    

I feel the cool, lush grass under my bare feet as I hold a ladder for Mike as he cleans out the gutters at church.  With nothing between my feet and the earth, I feel grounded.  I am taken back to my youth when I rarely wore shoes and my feet were as tough as leather.  I am thankful my mother, whose life ended suddenly and far too soon that September day, allowed me to run free as young child.   I played inside often, but my memories are not of being indoors, but rather of running through the tall grass, picking wild flowers, staring at the clouds, sifting sand through my fingers, climbing trees, gathering berries, feeling the creek water tickling my ankles, jumping in the autumn leaves, watching the flames of a camp fire, building igloos and snowmen in the winter, and breathing in the fresh air of every season.  I wonder how different my life would have been had I not had those experiences and I give thanks that my mother, who only had seven years to love me before she left this earth, never tried to stifle my need for the outdoors but let me run barefoot, get as dirty as I could possibly get, and encouraged my curiosity and explorations.  It is amazing how feeling the grass under my feet can transport me back in time and bring a feeling of peace.  

I watch as night falls suddenly now.  One minute the sun is there and the next it has slipped behind a ridge and darkness fades into “the holler” where we live.  There is a mocking bird that sings loudly outside my kitchen window without fail each evening as night approaches.  Not long after he stops singing, an owl calls from somewhere up in the pines.  The traffic on the road in front of our house slows to almost nothing when dark descends, and the stillness is the perfect background for the night sounds making their way into our home.  This is my cue to let the business and worries of the day slip away like the sun that dips behind the mountain ridge.  Tomorrow the sun will rise and opportunities and responsibilities will as well, but for a few hours I am allowed to let it all go and rest. 

October 1, 2018

Mostly, these past two weeks, I have been trying to manage my health.  Frankly, I hate it.  I don’t want to think about it and that is why I have found it so difficult to put my fingers to the keyboard and write.  I saw a meme from a writer’s group that I follow and I saved it as my lock screen on my computer. 

“There is no wrong or right, just write.”

There are times when the words fly so quickly through my brain that my fingers can hardly keep up.  There are other times when finding the words is like trying to sort through a big laundry basket full of everyone’s socks and when they are finally paired together, there is inevitably one missing that simply can’t be found.  So, this morning, after not posting a journal entry last week, I am trying to empty the basket, make order out of the individual pieces, and toss the extras into a drawer where hopefully they will one day be reunited with their match or at least become a somewhat useful dust rag.

Mike went to Staunton on Monday and I remained in Laurel Fork to take care of things here.  I missed him.  I no longer like to be away from him after sharing so much time with him the last two years.  Yet, I still can value my alone time and I make the most of it.  Silence doesn’t bother me and I seem to fill all my time alone and wonder at how quickly the time passed.  Such was the case this week.  Before I knew it, three days had passed and I drove Mike’s mom’s truck back to Verona so that we could return it to her.  It was an opportunity for me to see the grandchildren and that is all that I did while I was there.  Unlike every other trip where I have squeezed as much into the day(s) that I am there as I possibly can, I made a conscious effort to not take on any responsibilities and simply just rest and enjoy the grandchildren.  We were not able to see Hudson and Ella who were at school, but we did spend a little time with Analia before she left for school and we got to spend some time with the babies.  Rory, the eighteen-month-old always makes us laugh with her antics and pure joy at life.  We have not been able to be with Teagan, the newborn, much and we took the opportunity to drive to Harrisonburg so we could hold her for a while.  All the babies have always adored Mike and Teagan is no exception.  She gazed at him and made faces as he talked to her.  It was really sweet.  I drove up Wednesday evening and road back with Mike on Thursday evening.  We made it back home before dark so that we could take care of the cattle and chickens and make sure that Princess got milked. 

Friday, we had to take our car that has been sitting for four months to the Ford dealership where they finally got the part for the airbag recall that left us driving a rental vehicle (paid by Ford) for four months.  It will be nice not to have to make that mandatory three hour round trip every month to Roanoke to trade out rental vehicles.  While we were in the area, and since we had to wait on car repairs, we went over to Boone’s Mill to the produce auction.  I was able to buy some locally grown cabbage at a very reasonable price and brought home three, bushel bags of it.  I will be freezing some and making the rest into kraut.  There is no hurry on it, because the cabbage will keep in our cellar for a while.  I was also able to pick up some reasonably priced mums and the best deal of the day was the flat of miniature pansies that I bought for seventy cents!  While we were at the auction, one of the German Baptists (a sect very similar to the old order Mennonites both in religious beliefs and dress) who helped to form and operate the auction asked Mike if he would be interested in taking a position within the organization.  I know it is something near and dear to Mike’s heart and something he really wants to do but the distance (three hours round trip) and the commitment to at least two full days a week from early spring until late fall are things that have to be taken into consideration.  I told him that I would support whatever he decides.  If it is something he wants to do, then I don’t want to see him pass up the opportunity. 

We also stopped by to look at the Guernsey cows that I have been admiring for some time.  It was our third time to see them and every time we have gone with the intention of picking out a cow that I would bring home with me.  This trip, I concluded that I could not find the right Guernsey because Guernsey cattle just are not right for me. At least,  they are not right for me at this time in my life.  I will stick with my Jerseys. 

Saturday, Mike wanted to go to our regular auction in Galax.  They have not had a sale for several weeks.  I wasn’t feeling well but went, knowing that he most likely would not go without me.  I spent a good bit of time in the car at the beginning, which I don’t mind.  I take naps and read books.  I remind myself of my grandpa when I do that.  He was more of an introvert.  He loved people and enjoyed his time not only in the pulpit but “fellowshipping” as he liked to say.  But, he spent many hours absorbed in his books or working alone.  When my grandma would want to go out and shop or run around, he was content to see her active and happy while he sat in the car and read a book and took naps.  I am the same way with Mike.  I can be perfectly content waiting on him while he socializes. 

Sunday morning, I woke up feeling even worse and needing to stay close to home to deal with the physical symptoms of my recently diagnosed IBD.  I did very little Sunday, taking it easy and resting.  I am paying more attention to my body and what it is telling me than I ever have before.  I have always been one to just “push” myself through and get as much done as possible even if I didn’t feel like it.  Recent months have shown me that at least for now, I have to pay attention to the signs that I need to rest, relax, and eat responsibly, otherwise I will lose days in bed and possibly end up spending thousands of dollars in medical expenses to get things back under control.  It’s not a place I like to be and doesn’t fit into my lifestyle, plans or personal approach to life.  However, it is the hand that I have been dealt.  I have spent some moments quite saddened with the realities that I am facing and I have experienced extreme frustration over how this illness has manifested itself recently requiring me to no longer ignore it.  However, I am very aware of how fortunate I am on so many levels and I have still hold to the hope that with rest, time, and eating responsibly, I can enter into a long period of remission and recovery.    There are new fears along with this diagnosis, now realizing that individuals who have this type of autoimmune/inflammatory condition have a higher risk for colon cancer and other extreme complications that can arise as the body attacks itself.  I push the fears aside knowing that there is a worst-case scenario but there is also today and today is not only manageable but precious and filled with blessings and opportunities.  Each day, I am thankful, even more than ever, for what I CAN do and for what this illness HAS NOT taken from me.  I have much for which to be thankful and lots of hope for the future. 

As I type this, the morning sun is shining through my bedroom window.  It is welcomed after so much rain and so many cloudy days.  It’s a new day, a new week, and a new month.  September is always a difficult month for me but October brings with it the thrill of autumn, my favorite season of the year.  The natural world knows that a season of letting go is necessary and following that is a season of rest

 when the grass is brown, the trees are barren and the earth often lies under a blanket of snow.  Leaning in to the natural order of things makes a whole lot more sense than fighting the inevitable, and there is a lot of wisdom to be gained from acknowledging the natural world around us.